


holly and chicken

by rhyol1te



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Don't copy to another site, Other, depictions of christmas, historical inaccuracy (probably)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyol1te/pseuds/rhyol1te
Summary: Bossuet, Joly, and Musichetta have Feuilly over for Christmas dinner.For the Les Mis Secret Santa 2019
Relationships: Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	holly and chicken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akallabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akallabeth/gifts).



This is the third time they’ve tried to cook the bird. Had Grantaire not recently adopted fifty-three chickens (only heaven knows _why_ ) and given them four, it would have been a problem. As it is, it's only an excuse for Feuilly to commandeer the stove.

“Pass me the knife?” he says.

Bossuet reaches for it, and Musichetta sweeps by, deftly removing it from his grasp. “Nope,” she says, “I fear that knives will be the death of you.”

Joly shudders. He’s unsure, why - perhaps a draft? - and looks up from the sketch of a lung he’s doing in the caramel light of a candle. “Hmm?”

Musichetta grins. “Nothing,” she says, “Just saving our lover from his tendency to drop knives.”

“Well, is there anything else I can do to help?” Bossuet asks, innocent in his desire to burn yet another chicken.

Feuilly galances at the burned one, which is waiting for any palatable meat to be rescued. “No, I think I’ve got it.”

“What do you have?” Joly says, shuffling papers. His pencil is stuck behind his ear, and his messy hair makes him look like a bird with a beak emerging from his ear. Musichetta laughs.

“Oh!” Joly says, “I had almost forgotten! Bossuet, there is something you can help me with!”

Musichetta glances over to them with narrowed eyes.

“It’s a surprise,” Joly says. “We’ll be back soon.”

Joly pushes himself up, and leans on the table to put on his hat and coat. Leaning on his cane, he leads Bossuet out the door. “We’re just going to be a minute!” he yells over his shoulder.

“We’ll eat without you!” Musichetta threatens.

“You wouldn’t _dare._ ”

“Watch us,” Feuilly says, cutting the chicken into small pieces that will fit in the pot of broth Musichetta has boiled for soup.

Bossuet and Joly are only gone a few minutes, but it’s enough time for Musichetta to warm some bread (bought that afternoon as Bossuet ambled home from avoiding his law school classes for yet another day) near the fire, and for Feuilly to add cabbage and various other ingredients to their soup.

Musichetta is lighting more candles to combat the growing twilight - they have no westward facing windows, and it gets dark quickly since they are in the shadow of another building as well - when Bossuet and Joly come in, Bossuet carrying a… _tree?_

As Joly holds the door for him, Musichetta sees that it isn’t a tree, but is only a branch. “Good,” she says, “Add in a tree and we wouldn’t have room for Feuilly.”

Joly sits down, and leans his can against the table with one hand, and pats the table with his other. “Here, put it here,” he says.

Joly clearly hadn’t thought about the fact that the branch (tree?) was likely to be wet, because he shrieks and dives for his papers as a spray of slush flies form the tree (branch?) as Bossuet flings it down.

“A branch?” Musichetta says. “Or a tree?”

“A branch,” Joly says, “or a mini-tree. Marius’s horrible grandfather has one, and we - I - decided that we needed to outdo him.”

Musichetta grins. “We have, simply by not being horrible. But the tree is nice too.”

“Good,” Joly says, and starts moving candles away from the flammable greenery.

Feuilly announces that their dinner is ready, and Bossuet says, “Poor Feuilly! We invited you to spend Christmas with us, and then look - you’ve been left to do all the cooking!”

Feuilly ducks his head, and grins. “I really don’t mind. I like cooking, and this is much better than being lonely in my rooms.”

Musichetta tilts her head, and begins ladling out soup.

They keep up a pleasant chatter throughout dinner, avoiding serious topics like the planned uprising and Marius’s horrible grandfather, who has become some sort of boogeyman among all those who know him.

After dinner they exchange gifts: Musichetta has knitted everyone scarves, scarves are the peak of her knitting ability; Bossuet has given them eggshells with the yolks and whites blown out and amusing faces drawn on them; Joly has made them something that is supposed to ward off colds (unsuccessful, based on the one he’s now haroring, but everyone thanks him); and Feuilly has given them -

“No,” Joly breaths, and Feuilly lays out the fan. “Wasn’t that a commission?”

“You don’t have to - “ Musichetta finds herself saying, and reaching out to almost stroke the lovely thing. It’s hand painted ( _hand. painted.)_ and is all scrollwork and holly and flowers.

Feuilly grins. “It was, but I knocked some paint on it -” he points to tiny and barely-there speck of paint “- and had to redo it. I figured y’all would like this one.”

“Thank you,” Musichetta says, and stands up so she can give him a hug. Joly joins in, and then Bossuet does.

“It’s really nice,” Bossuet says, voice slightly muffled by Musichetta’s sleeve.

“So are the socks,” Feuilly says, breaking out of the hug, “and the eggs, and the cold repellent. I’m not leaving until you take it.”

“Very well,” Musichetta says, “We should find some way of hanging it.”

Feuilly grins. “Only if you use it too, once in a while.”

“We will,” Musichetta says.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make me super happy! <3


End file.
